Already Sunk
by bravefan
Summary: Tag to Season 1 Episode 7 - Things go a little less smoothly than expected during SERE school for one member of green team
1. Chapter 1

_I've been working on a different SEAL team story but then I rewatched S1-07 the other day and all of a sudden I was off on a completely different tangent. First try in this Fandom so hope it works. _

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It's been two weeks since Brian's chute failed to open.

Technically it partially opened if you really wanted to get into irrelevant details. The after action reports apparently did because they had made the distinction even though it made no difference. The end result was still the same and it was still 14 long shitty days since Clay watched the rest of second stick land safely while his friend drew the short straw and paid far too high a price in a pointless training mission.

Coincidentally it's now also exactly two weeks until the end of said training because life moves fast, even when you don't want it to and especially in the military. There are new missions to complete and final training runs to finish and they are back at it within a week of Brian's passing. Death notification, funeral, debriefs, and mandatory days off all slotted neatly into a compact 7 day stand down period and on the 8th day they are back up in a plane for another jump. Back in the saddle or something like that.

Clay is thoroughly on board with getting moving again even if his heart pounds just a little bit extra stepping off the lip of the plane and he closes his eyes for a moment in relief when his chute opens successfully. The downtime in his mind had been extra insult to injury giving him way too much time to replay that day and play the "what if' game. Like what if Brian had grabbed a different bag... or cut away his line sooner… or what if they'd slept through their alarms that day all together. He comes up with what feels like a thousand minor alterations that would have changed the parameters of the scenario just enough to mean that Brian would still be here.

But instead he finds himself in this uncomfortable middle ground. Stuck between grieving his friend and the growing elation he can't quite stamp out about as he moves one day closer to achieving his goal of being in DEVRGU. He is both completely ready and absolutely not ready to be back at it.

Because when they do get going again each day seems to bring new ways to painfully remind him of his missing teammate who should be getting to experience this homestretch as well. For example it hits him hard the first time he gears up next to an empty locker. Then there's the first time someone unknowingly sits in Brian's spot at lunch and even worse the pit in his stomach when he finishes the obstacle course and turns to taunt Brian only to find he isn't right behind him. He tries to put those feelings aside and buy into the excited buzz surrounding the end of their cycle. Upcoming drafts. Team speculation. Increasingly complex missions and final tests. It's a constant push and pull of conflicting emotions that he files away behind his usual cocky grin and smart ass remarks. The looks he sometimes catches from Master Chief Seaver out of the corner of his eye tell him he isn't always successful at faking it but he keeps trying anyways. And slowly he gets caught up in the merriment all the candidates are feeling about finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, aka draft day that will decide their future as tier one operators.

After their training mission today he allows himself to relish in the good vibes that follow a job well done. Their squad completed their objective clean and clear and well under time limit. The instructors had barely found a thing to critique and the boys were feeling their oats as they head back to base in the back of the transport.

Amidst the good humor and commradery, its something trivial and stupid that sends an unexpected shot of grief through coursing through him. The guys call him on his bullshit about having plans tonight, accurately surmising that he is ditching them to go see Stella and today's gut punch reminds him of Brian's last words to him which had happened to be about her. "Try not to screw it up". He was trying. On so many levels. God he wished the man was here to join in on taunting him right now.

His morose thoughts are violently interrupted in a screech of brakes and the crunch of metal that sends their truck lurching sideways. The impact is sudden, jarring and completely unexpected and the occupants inside are thrown from their seats in a jumble of bodies. Clay goes airborne for a second launching headfirst into the other side of the truck before the trucks momentum corrects and sends him back towards the seat he just left. Unfortunately he doesn't stick the landing and his back makes contact with the corner of the steel bench rather then his butt and then he tumbles down to the floor in a heap where he lies winded. His head is spinning and his ribs are screaming and he lays still and for a second unsure if he is in the backwoods of Virginia or if his truck just hit an IED in J-Bad. Before he can catch his breath or get a handle on the pain or figure out what the hell happened and what country he is actually in the doors are wrenched open and hands are grabbing at him. Shouting. Pulling him from the floor where he slides less than gracefully out and land hard on his knees on the concrete.

The rough treatment is unexpected and in his stupor he wonders where the hell these people learned to do first aid because he's pretty sure this is the opposite of what you are supposed to do. Thankfully he doesn't actually verbalize the question because the penny drops a few seconds later when two more of his teammates have been pulled out and someone shouts at them to put their hands behind their heads.

Fuck.

SERE school.

He blames the header he took into the wall for how embarrassingly long it took him to figure it out.

They knew it was coming and that they would have to endure 3 days of simulated torture and interrogation at some point as one of their final trials. But damn he wasn't expecting it to happen like this. He had to give it to them this was unexpectedly good and had thrown him completely off kilter. It probably doesn't bode well for the rest of the course. As if to confirm that ominous thought someone pulls a hood over his head and things go dark.

They are piled into a different transport and go for a ride. The scenery is terrible thanks to their new head accessories, but it does give him time to compose himself. To get his game face on and mentally prepare for whatever is coming next. He is kicking himself for already missing the first critical escape window. Its a well known fact that your best change at escape is at the moment of capture. Statistically your odds drop off dramatically after that. No matter, he will be ready going forward and he won't miss the next opportunity. This may not be real, but it is another test for him to prove he belongs.

Too soon they arrive and its go time. It's all business as their captors efficiently unload them and lead them through to a wide open courtyard. The order comes to strip, and he almost rolls his eyes the predictability of that. He exchanges glances with a few of the guys and they smirk as they obey and then stand at attention in their skivvies while someone drones on about something or other up front.

They stand…

And stand…

And stand some more...

Perhaps they are trying to bore them into breaking right off the bat. Hell they might be onto something with this. There are fewer things more painful to men of action then standing around doing nothing. And if that isn't bad enough throw in someone prattling on about something.

As he waits he can feel the adrenaline fading and some of the aches and pains from the events of the day setting in. Apparently rolling around in a truck will make random parts of your body sore. He doubts there will be a feedback section at the end of the SERE course but if there was perhaps they could consider seatbelts before their next staged hijacking. By tomorrow he imagines there will probably be a few good bruises, but then again maybe that is what they were going for, a base layer before they purposefully add some more on top. He mentally starts calculating just how long three days really is... 3 days x 24 hours x 60 minutes x 60 seconds = a whole lot of time to do some damage. 259,000 seconds to be precise. He knows they won't really do anything too permanent. Not when they have invested so much time and money in their future operators. But these guys are also the best at what they do and he is sure they can do a lot without actually doing a lot.

Done with his private pity party and ready do something useful he starts scanning the encampment for possible escape routes. Mentally noting the possible exits, guard posts, security cameras, anything that might be important if he gets the chance to make a run for it. He is on his third sweep when his lack of attention is discovered and a sharp blow to his back brings him back in a hurry and puts him down onto all fours with a grunt. He bites his lip and breathes through the sharp spike in pain that shoots through his lower back. Just his luck that the blow landed on the exact same spot that collided with the truck bench earlier in the evening. Its that soft fleshy part right above his left kidney and damn if it doesn't hurt like a son of a bitch right now.

After a second he turns his head angrily behind him to see a guard watching him recover, the butt end of his rifle poised for another jab if need be.

"Get up"

He wants to launch himself at that smug fucker and give him a taste of his own medicine. The gun is for sure fake, or at least not loaded. There's no way they take the risk of having live ammo in SERE. Way too much room for something to go wrong. He longs to dispossess him of his weapon and bash on his kidneys a few times and see if he is still smiling then. But before he can act on that violent urge the sight of Master Chief Seaver standing on the periphery catches his attention. Watching, scrutinizing the situation and what is more, Clay can see the expectation clear as day on his face. His training officer is waiting for him to go off, fully expecting him to do something stupid like jumping on a grenade or starting a fight that will get him kicked out of SERE.

Its that fact, and only that fact that keeps him in his place.

He stares defiantly at Adam as he slowly clambers to his feet and retakes his position at attention. Plastering back on the same fake emotionless mask he has been perfecting over the last few weeks.

His altercation with the guard apparently had no bearing on the speech that is still ongoing up front and he tunes back in just in time to hear the tail end of it and catch the final instructions that make him groan again, this time for an entirely different reason.

You have got to be kidding.

Rolling his eyes he complies begrudgingly, determined to show Seaver that he doesn't know him as well as he thinks he does. That Clay Spenser can play the good little meek soldier when it is smart to do so.

Apparently the others are taking the same approach because soon enough there is a line of very strong, very capable, practically naked soon to be tier one operators, shuffling single file on their hands and knees being herded like sheep towards what he presumes are the barracks.

What a sight they must be. He makes a mental note to make sure Stella never, ever finds out about this

By the time they make it across the courtyard his back is throbbing, his knees are raw and he is ready to take his "shepherds" Ak-47 cane and shove it somewhere the sun don't shine. Damn he wished they let you fight back at SERE school. But absent that option he grits his teeth and lets the asshole poke and prod him towards what is apparently going to be his accommodations for the night.

A cage.

And not a particularly large one either. Just perfect.

He pauses, contemplating the best way to try to fit his large frame into the contraption that looks about the size for a medium dog at best. Finding no better alternative he channels his inner lassie and crawls into the metal box, drawing in his limbs and curling up

out of necessity. He can't quite sit up straight, but he can at least move around a little. Score one for being average height. This is going to really suck for some of the taller guys. The gate slams shut inches from his face with a finality that tells him he is in for the night. He can't quite resist getting the last word and gives his guard a loud parting "woof."

The only response he gets is the door to the room slamming shut with a loud metallic clang that reverberates in the enclosed space and sets of a chain reaction of rattling mettle cages.

Seconds later the symphony of screaming death metal drowns out that noise. Not to be outdone a mystery baby joins in and screams their lungs out on the recording as well. The final piece de resistance, lights flickering on and off ensures complete and total sensory overload. And probably a complete and total lack of sleep in his future.

Clay sighs and shifts around in his cage, trying and failing to find a comfortable position.

Yep, this is going to be a fun couple of days. Only 231,796 or so more minutes to go, but who is counting right?

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This was supposed to be a one shot... oops. Looking like it will be a three parter


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks everyone for the kind reviews. Clay whump coming right up._

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Clay wakes up stiff and sore.

Which logically means he actually managed to drift off at some point during the long night even though it feels like he was awake for all of it.

His legs have long ago gone numb and all he wants is to stand up and stretch them out for just a minute. So it's a relief when they finally come to get him despite having a pretty good idea what awaits him.

Throughout the last couple hours they have dragged several others out of their cages. The walls are pretty thin and even if they weren't the shape the green team members are in when they come back tells him that he isn't about to be taken on a pleasure stroll.

They mostly work his stomach and face. Hard punches, nothing fancy. The face is tolerable, he takes a couple shots there early on and the only real issue is the general distastefulness of the blood running down his nose and into his mouth. Gross, but in the grand scheme of things no big deal.

The blows to his abdomen on the other hand hurt bad. There is no way around it and no attempt to be macho here. When the first punch lands on the left side it sends a wave of pain all the way through his core and into the tender area on his back. Its agonizing and steals his breath when his body stiffens and tries to protect itself by curling forward but can't. After a few more blows land close to the same spot he comes dangerously and embarrassingly close to letting a sob escape. He wasn't expecting this level of pain from a simple beating and he struggles to get his breathing under control and stay grounded. Heart racing and beads of sweat dripping down his face, he grits his teeth and barely manages to choke out the appropriate answers to the questions being thrown at him.

Of course the acceptable responses aren't the ones they are looking for so more blows land. Hitting him in the chest, in the face, and then in the stomach again. Fuck.

As the pain builds, punch upon punch, he vaguely considers something he never thought he would.

He could tap out and request medical assistance.

Clay is no doctor, and he doesn't want to be accused of overreacting, yet he can't help but start to wonder if the injury to his back from the car crash is more serious than he thought. Maybe a broken rib or a slipped disk or something that would explain the lasting level of discomfort and why even though his stomach is taking the blows its disconcertingly the entire left side of his lower back that feels hot and swollen.

He knows he technically has the option to request a medical assessment at any point. The blowhard from the courtyard had said it right upfront yesterday "i_f you are in trouble physically… call the coreman_." But then again he had followed it up with "_if you are in trouble mentally… call your momma_" which made it seem a tad less genuine. And more importantly, Clay isn't quite sure what the repercussions would be if he opted out for medical reasons.

He certainly doesn't want to do SERE again, or even worse not have the chance to and wash out this late in the game because he couldn't handle a little pain. There is also a very good chance that if he opts out he will forever be branded a coward who can't handle a tough situation. Because if God forbid, he is ever captured, it probably won't be in perfect health meaning this is about as realistic a SERE course as you could get. Justified or not, people will say he couldn't hack it and they will say it even more because of his last name.

The idea of those rumours getting back to the teams, to Bravo team in particular, before the draft is a non starter for him. There is no option in his mind but to suck it up and get through this.

So he fights back the only way he can right now, with his mouth. He figures out quickly that the more he pisses his captors off the more they seem to target his face. Normally he might rather them aim elsewhere, if nothing else but for pure vanity reasons and to have less visible damage to explain to Stella later. Right now though face shots are far preferable. So he sets about being the most annoying, antagonistic prisoner he can manage. It's actually not really a big stretch. He just lets go of any restraint he was previously showing and tells them what he really thinks.

For starters their attempts at interrogation are almost embarrassingly obvious. The trickery is so plain as day that he almost feels sorry for them and out of due consideration takes a second to pretend he actually has to think about it. He uses that time to draft a creative answer that maintains his cover but also implies something about their general lack of intelligence.

Then there is their form. Its sad how many people don't really know how to throw a punch properly.

And don't even get them started on their personal hygiene. He spent the night in a cage and he still looks and smells fresher than them.

Funnily enough they don't appreciate his critiques.

Before long he is back in his cage with a pounding head and a jaw that probably won't be able to chew on anything more solid than apple sauce for the next few days. He doesn't anticipate it being a problem as feeding their prisoners doesn't seem to be high on anyone's priority list right now.

Night two feels almost unbearably longer. Death Metal part two starts back up for one and the sequel isn't any better than the original. He also doesn't sleep much again because even once his back dies down to an almost tolerable level the rest of his body very much protests spending another night in the same cramped position. Each limb picks different hours of the night to cramp or spasm and he passes most of the duration shifting from uncomfortable position to uncomfortable position trying to shake things out while only being able to move a few inches.

Eventually the morning comes. At least he thinks so. Would it kills them to have a clock or windows in this room?

Regardless his internal clock tells him it is sometime early in the morning and if he isn't too far off with his guess then he is now a little more than halfway done SERE. Only halfway and the lack of sleep and constant ache in his back is wearing away at his reserves faster than he would like. To add insult to injury at some point the night he started to run a fever if the hot and cold spells and general sluggish feeling he can't shake is any indication.

Halfway there but still a long way to go and he can't help but start to question the wisdom of his decision to stick it out because it kind of feels like things are going downhill a bit too fast.

When they come for him today he doesn't want to leave the relative safety of his cage. He finds it more challenging to focus on the questions they throw at him and he gives up on being a smart ass and just bites his tongue rather than risk saying the wrong thing.

He has to give himself some tough love on a couple occasions. Focus on the fact that all the other guys are probably just as tired as he is right now. Never mind the fact that there are men and women out there right now in way worse real situations. It bolsters him and he rallies for a bit.

But then the water boarding comes out.

The first time he comes back to himself and coughs out a lungful of water the ache in his back surges to a whole new level of stabbing pain he didn't think was possible.

And then they go again. And again.

Rinse, drown and repeat.

Its over eventually and he is too exhausted and too out of it to care about the pathetic moan that escapes when they shove him roughly back into his cage sopping wet and thoroughly spent. If he's honest, he isn't even entirely sure how he got back from the room. A large chunk of the last couple hours are a blur of water, blackness, pain, coughing, pain, water, blackness, coughing, and more pain. Clay can't pinpoint when the endless cycle of drowning and choking actually stopped and in fact the the panicked trapped feeling still remains while he takes great heaving wet noisy breaths and tries to recover from being systematically deprived of oxygen for the last couple hours.

Far too soon his new favorite song starts back up. He briefly fantasizes about tracking down whatever band this is and shooting them all many, many times. After further not very lucid reflection he decides that even that seems like too much effort right now and won't put a dent in this misery he is currently allowing himself to wallow in. Instead he tries to imagine he is home with Stella. Warm beneath the sheets and cuddled up with her in his arms. In reality the cold metal cuts into his skin as he slumps more heavily against it. His back throbs in concerto with the never ending snare drum that just won't shut up. But Stella's warm arms wrap around him, and he leans into her embrace letting himself drift away to be with her.

By day three a lot of things feel impossible. Even though he knows he is almost there, that he just has to hang on for a few more hours he isn't sure he can do it. Just the simple act of standing seems like an inconceivable feat because his head is full of cotton and there is a ball of fire across his lower back that makes any kind of movement insufferable.

When his interrogators open the cage he just stares at them dumbly. Not even willing to conceptualize an attempt at moving or walking. Luckily that doesn't seem to bother them. Doesn't even really give them pause. They drag him out, pulling him up by his armpits and letting his limp legs trail out behind him, completely unphased by his lack of cooperation. When they let go he ends up on all fours, barely managing to brace himself on his knees and arms so he doesnt end up flat on his face. The jarring makes things go hazy for a while and he is pretty certain he is going to puke. From his vantage of the floor he has a nice line on somebody's shoes and thought crosses his miserable mind to try to at least hit them and get some satisfaction out of it.

Before things stop spinning on him he feels himself lifted up off the floor. Losing contact with the only thing that was grounding him leaves him untethered and he closes his eyes and embraces drifting in the darkness until he feels the movement stop.

He opens his eyes to see a barrel filled with water and can't even find the energy to care.

The cold shock of water is almost a relief. He floats and finds it more comfortable and more spacious than the cage he has spent the better part of two days. The icy temperature combats the fire at his back and cools his skin and for a second and he can almost think clearly again. It feels heavenly and in return all he has to worry about is keeping his head above the water line.

After a while he starts shivering, then a bit later he stops. Distantly he knows that isn't a good sign but he doesn't really care until a few hours later when it starts to become a challenge to keep his head up. He is so, so tired and the water feels warm and welcoming, it feels like home, like his bed and he just wants to relax into it and sleep.

Brian visits him strangely enough, decked out in his fatigues floating beside him and then takes them to lounge on a beach and suddenly is in his lucky shirt. He isn't really sure when they got to a beach, or really what this whole visit means for him, but it's warm and comfortable so he tries not to overthink it. Brian tells him to hang in there to keep his chin up, then leaves abruptly even though Clay begs him to stay.

His father, also back in uniform just to make this even weirder, comes by for a chit chat next. In typical fashion he tells Clay to toughen up and pull himself together before he disgraces their family name. Clay closes his eyes and refuses to engage with him. Fully appreciating now why Brian chose to invent a new family rather than acknowledge the shitty one he had.

A still rational part of him does clue into the fact that its probably not a good thing that dead people and assholes are visiting him in the barrel. As far as he can figure hallucinations are usually at the very end of a bad list of symptoms for a bad list of problems. Before he can put too much more thought into that ominous conclusion there is a tug on his arms that throws him for a loop. A very firm, very real, grip on his arm pulls him upwards and confuses the shit out of him.

Clay emerges from the water to find some very different and very real uniformed men surrounding him.

He is still with it enough to feel completely embarrassed, acutely aware of what he probably looks like right now.

Dripping, dirty, mostly naked and half out of his head talking to dead people .

Of all the teams to come rescue him it had to be Bravo.

This isn't the triumphant break out he had in mind. Or the way he pictured walking out at the end of the three days, unbowed and unbroken, like it had been a piece of cake. Instead he feels like a bedraggled mess and who is admittedly having a little bit of trouble distinguishing reality from things solely existing in his head. He feels like he should raise a flag that says "you win SERE, you win". Where there should be relief about being liberated and passing the course, there is just bone deep exhaustion, pain and uncertainty. Maybe relief will come later but right now he just wants to curl up in a ball on this disgusting dirty floor and sleep right here.

Words blur around him until someone claps him on the shoulder, and a hand extends into the clear part in the center of his blurred vision. He squints and tracks the limb back up to the body it's attached to, Jason Hayes. A small burst of adrenaline sharpens his focus and helps him right himself. He is determined to pull it together and stand under his own power in front of Bravo's team leader so he nods to Brock and Trent who relinquish their steadying grip on his arms.

He clasps the proffered hand and manges to stay upright when the movement reverberates down his arm and through his core, lances through his side and around his back and down into his quivering jello legs. Breaking contact he sways slightly but locks his legs, takes a steadying breath and turns purposefully to follow his rescuers out of this hell hole.

He makes it one step, and then one more, but on the third his legs dissolve underneath him and the room spins too rapidly for him to make sense of. The edges of his vision go from grey to black and gentle waves carry him away and back to the beach.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason hates it when Ray is right.

Actually that's inaccurate.

He loves that his number two is insightful and perceptive and always has a good bead on what is going on around him. Ray's view of the world holds both pinpoint accuracy to the small important details and also wide expansive perspective of the bigger picture. He is a true sniper through and through.

He relies on Ray to be two steps ahead of any problem that brews on the team. The man understands each member, understands the team dynamics and when anything is out of the norm nips it in the bud quickly getting to the source of whatever is driving it. And when he can't he brings it to Jason's attention forcing him to hear it even when he doesn't always want to. Usually providing a very accurate and deep assessment in combination with an idiot-proof set of recommendations that even Jason can't screw up. His 2IC could probably actually retire and make a killing if he wrote an interpersonal dynamics for dummies book and marketed it to the military.

Jason just hates it when Ray is right about him.

He hates it when his second in command channels all his freaky perceptiveness and directs it squarely at his team leader. The man can be a freaking dog with a bone when he is stuck on something he thinks is important. For example the current flavour of the month is Clay Spenser. Since the draft is rapidly approaching and Jason refuses to make a clear decision one way or another, Perry just will not let it rest.

He knows Ray has a point in that every metric, every ranking, every tactical considerations and just plain common sense says that they should take the Spenser kid in the draft. It should be a no brainer. And even if he didn't trust the instructors rankings, which he does, time has shown that he absolutely can and should trust his second in command's intuition.

The problem is Ray is also more accurate than maybe even he knows when he said that Clay has already gotten under Jason's skin. The Bravo team leader finds himself keeping tabs on the Spenser kid ever since his cameo as a team strap. Watching him in the cafeteria for no reason. Straining to eavesdrop on conversations between the Green Team trainers to pick up some new. Going to Green Team exercises to observe all the candidates, read Clay, and mentally critiquing him while also secretly being impressed.

Some part of him, one he chooses not to over analyze, wants to know what the kid is up to at all times. For example there is no good explanation for why once he heard Davis mention the candidates being in SERE school he began mentally tracking two missions. Most of his focus was on Bravo team's actual mission to rescue the kidnapped CIA operative and yet a small corner of his brain was keeping a tally of Green Teams progress through their 72 hours of hell.

Really its unacceptable.

If anyone else on the team was not 100% focused on the mission he would be kicking their butt.

So his indecision about the draft or whatever this is needs to stop.

Ray would tell him there is an explanation. A very simple one.

Has tried to tell Jason on several occasions too, even though Jason didn't want to hear it.

But the more he is forced to interact with the kid, the more he watches from a distance, the harder it is to ignore - there are some definite similarities.

The way Spenser mouthed back at Jason on that mission after he swacked the HVT and after he disobeyed a direct order. Yah that rings a bell.

And even more so the adaptive strategic thinking that led him to do it. That type of fluid thinking is a rare trait that not all tier one operators possess. It's incredibly valuable and also completely and utterly exasperating for a team leader because it requires the person to walk a very fine line between initiative and overstepping, creativity and carelessness. Nate was a master at treading that line, right up until he wasn't.

Watching Clay in training brings back the familiar complicated desire to both simultaneously throttle a person for their choices while also kind of admiring the result.

So yeah, the kid reminds him of Nate.

That therapist from a few weeks back would probably would have had a field day with that admission, as would his second, which is exactly why he chooses to keep it to himself and live in denial for at least a little while longer.

To that end he pretends that he is exasperated when Davis advises that Bravo team got the call to go break the candidates out of SERE on their way home.

In reality he is relieved and he has to work to tamp down the increasing urgency he feels to move faster, gear up quicker and prepare for their impromptu follow on rescue mission.

And even once they get to work, his anxiety climbs higher with each sopping greenie they pull out of a barrel that isn't the one he is apparently looking for.

When they finally do get to Spenser. He doesn't get the reaction he is expecting. No smile. No cocky smirk. The kid just stares at them glassy eyed, without any sign of recognition. Blinking listlessly in a daze as he takes in his surroundings and looks vaguely like he is trying to decide if he is still under water or not.

Jason is almost a little disappointed in the response. He knows it isn't fair. That maybe he has too high expectations and apparently respects what Clay has shown so far in training more than he wants to let on. He certainly didn't expect the kid to be this rattled.

Then again SERE will humble even the best.

And Spenser does actually look in significantly worse shape than the other ones they have pulled out so far. So maybe it isn't realistic to expect him to be sharp right now.

Trent seems to share Jason's assessment, holding on to Clay's elbow for an extra second to be sure the kid gets his legs under him.

Come to think of it, it's not exactly surprising the young gun appears to have run afoul of his captors a few extra times. Clay has a mouth on him and no shortage of confidence. Two things that won't serve you well in SERE school.

Poor strategy or not, Spenser got through it so Jason holds out his hand to shake and gives the kid one last look over.

His breathing is still a little rough and his colour a little too pale but he ruthlessly tells himself it's not his job to care about that right now.

Not yet anyways.

With no small amount of effort he forces himself to move on to congratulating the next candidate.

They will all be alright. The SERE instructors are masters at what they do and know how to stop just before the line. Its brutal and nasty while you are in it but once it's over most of what ails a person can be cured with a shower, a hot meal and a couple hours of sleep.

As if determined to prove him wrong, he sees Clay's knees buckle out of the corner of his eye.

Brock being the closest makes an admirable but unsuccessful attempt to catch him before he faceplants. Apart from that no one really reacts when the kid hits the deck.

In fact a neutral observer would probably be appalled at the altogether lack of response .

Unless you counted Sonny's not so quiet and fairly cavalier comment on the subject.

"Hmph. I reckon the greenie should have eaten his wheaties today."

As much as the physical stuff is carefully controlled it still takes a toll. The stress and uncertainty begins to feel real no matter how long you tell yourself it isn't and the adrenaline dump at the end is most definitely real.

All that to say there is usually at least one fainter a class.

And from what he's heard the betting pool between the Green Team instructors is quite lucrative on the subject. The fact that its Ash Spenser's kid is probably a little extra icing on the cake for whoever won this year.

Jason can't help but think that it might be not be the worst thing as it could bring the kid's ego down a much needed peg or two. He shoots an exasperated look at Ray that he hopes conveys an "I told you so" loud and clear. He would place his own bet on the fact that the kid probably overdid it or did something equally stupid that led to this result. Probably tried to show someone up by telling them to beat him extra instead or refused to sleep so a teammate could. Its that kind of dumb lack of self preservation that exactly makes his case for why they shouldnt take the kid.

When Clay doesn't come around after a second or two, Trent finally moves, casually taking a knee at his side to give his sternum a hard rub. He follows it up with a well placed shoulder pinch that Jason knows from experience hurts like a bitch.

Getting no response, Bravo 4 finally reaches down to check his pulse..

Jason can see the exact moment it goes from being fun and games to something more serious. Trent visibly switches into medic mode, his face losing any elements of humour and his movements sharpening quickly as he starts checking other vitals. Jason's stomach drops a few inches, familiar enough with his medic's nuances to know this is no longer a laughing matter. Sure enough within seconds Trent is barking out orders for a coreman to be called, a SERE instructor Jason doesn't know hurries to obey. Adam and Brock both slip in closer to assist Trent, following urgent directions to raise Clay's legs and get him covered and warm.

Jason knows it's not his scene but he can't help himself. He wants answers.

"Sitrep Bravo 4"

Trent answers without looking up, focus fully absorbed on pulling supplies out of his kit. "He's gone into shock. Vitals are shit. Not sure why yet."

Jason rounds on the instructors who are observing carefully but staying out of the way.

"He get anything special?"

"No just the regular" The one who speaks seems as confused as they are by the turn of events.

"This isn't regular. BPs in the tank…." Trent shakes his head, working the problem out loud as and searching the non-responsive man for something that will explain his condition… "Tilt him"

Brock and Adam obey, rolling Clay onto his side and exposing his back.

Shit.

Jason isn't the only one who reacts. There is an audible murmur in the room as people catch sight of the deep, dark bruising concentrated over one side of the kid's lower back. The colours are vivid and layered and expand out from a central point a few inches above his hip. Even to the non doctors in the room it speaks of likely internal bleeding, possible broken bones or spinal damage.

A sudden surge of anger and unexpected wave of protectiveness has Jason directing an accusatory glare towards the instructors because in his mind this is far beyond the scope of SERE training. Far beyond any "regular". This is clearly life threatening and could be career threatening down the road. Neither of which are acceptable outcomes for a training course.

When he finally unclenches his jaw enough to speak he gestures in Clay's direction "This is regular?"

His tone is caustic and accusatory. He takes a small amount of satisfaction in seeing a few instructors shift uncomfortably.

The same one who spoke before speaks for the group again, this time more defensively "That wasn't us, we didn't do anything to him that would have caused that."

Jason isn't sure he believes them, things have been known to get a little too real here. People can get carried away in a hurry.

He holds his gaze on the man but the man meets Bravo 1's scrutiny head on and doesn't flinch. The tension in the room ratchets up a notch and he feels more than sees Sonny take a small step forward at his six in response.

Adam apparently has heard enough, he looks up from his position at Spenser's side "It's probably from the crash at the beginning." He shoots Jason a hard look,the implication clear as day - this isn't the time or the place.

Trent, always level headed, nods in agreement while he inserts an IV "That would make sense, that bruise has been developing for a few days"

Jason isn't sure that explanation makes him feel any better but he doesn't have time to dwell on it or decide how he feels about being stood down by Adam because the coreman finally arrive.

There is a flurry of activity while Trent quickly catches them up and within seconds Clay has an oxygen mask on, is bundled under blankets, strapped down to a backboard and they are hustling out of the room followed closely by Adam.

Jason has to consciously remind himself that it's not his job to go with him. That it's Seaver's show and Seaver's team right now.

That self control lasts a few hours until they degear, debrief and finish the AARs from their actual mission. Then he runs out of it and wants to know what happened.

Trent was pretty sure the kid would be all right, spewed some medical mumbo jumbo about blood transfusions and hypothermia and hypertherapy.

Except Jason isn't satisfied with that. And he isn't satisfied with the idea of just calling Adam for an update either.

There's a knot in his stomach that he knows won't go away until he's seen it with his own eyes.

That's when he knows he is already sunk.

Ray does an admirable job at trying not to look victorious when Jason says he has a few errands to run and that he will be home later.

Still, there is a knowing smile that creeps onto his second in command's face that says he knows exactly where Jason will be detouring to before checking into Ray's couch for the night.

Jason finds Adam in the base hospital room.

He gets the same knowing grin from Seaver too and he is really, really, starting to tire of people thinking they are experts in Jason Hayes psychology.

So he ignores Adam in favour of studying the man on the bed.

Spenser is still unconscious but is settled comfortably on the bed, breathing easy under a fancy O2 mask that is probably pumping the warmed oxygen Trent was prattling on about earlier. His colour is better, a far cry from the greyish tint he had before and Jason doesn't even need to read the machines to know his vitals are better. He still does though, making a mental note of them just in case.

Tucked under a warming blanket and sleeping peacefully, the kid looks 12. For a second Jason sees Mikey in the bed and the thought is almost physically painful.

It occurs to him that it's been several hours since the Spencer kid collapsed. It is a bit surprising that there isn't anyone else waiting by his bedside. The kid would be alone if Adam hadn't stuck around.

He half expected Ash Spenser to be here. Although come to think of it he vaguely remembers Clay mentioning his father and his book in a futile attempt to distance himself from the pair when he was their strap. Jason had written it off, assuming it was mostly talk or a somewhat admirable attempt to stand on his own two feet rather than his pipehitter father's now somewhat tarnished legacy. Perhaps there is something to it though and maybe the father/son relationship isn't as hunky dory as everyone assumed. He doesn't know why that surprises him. He knows Ash Spenser and it really shouldn't surprise anyone to learn he wasn't the father of the year even though he was a damn good operator. Unfortunately the two don't always go hand in hand.

Adam answers the unspoken question. Or perhaps is just trying to rationalize his own presence there.

"His girlfriend is on the way. Was out of town at some sort of conference."

Jason gives that a non-committal "Hmm." Still a bit prickly and not willing to admit he had been curious.

He goes back to studying the kid. That answers one of his questions but Clay is still unconscious, hours later, so there is still one more big one that he both wants to and doesn't want to ask.

Adam doesn't make him beg, again volunteering the information like a peace offering "He's been in and out of it a few times, they said he is gonna be alright."

At Jason's continued silence he goes on to provide more details,

"Initial snatch and grab accident caused some damage to his kidney. A small tear that was bleeding slowly. Might have been alright but the rough treatment probably didn't help and then the cold water exasperated things and he went into hypovolemic shock. They managed to stop the bleeding without opening him up, used a catheter and went up through his leg to embolize the bleed. He'll need a couple days of observation to make sure it holds but his vitals are already stabilizing and he should be back on his feet fairly quickly."

Bleeding internally for 3 days. Jesus.

Jason mulls that over for a second. Grappling with the now familiar wave of anger, protectiveness, exasperation, fondness that he is beginning to associate with Clay Spenser.

He settles on anger because it's the simplest.

"Idiot should have tapped out."

Adam snorts, apparently amused by the sentiment, or maybe just who it was coming from "Yep, probably should have. But would you have…"

Jason tilts his head in acknowledgement of that point.

If there was any doubt before its been erased, this kid is a true believer.

The best kind, and the worst kind of SEAL.

Loyal to a fault and doesn't know his own limitations, which means he is probably going to try to get himself killed on more than one occasion. Spenser is going to need someone to stamp that out of him and Jason is becoming less and less sure that he can trust that task to anyone else. Clearly Clay needs the best team around him to make sure he makes it home in one piece long enough to reach his full potential. You can't waste this kind of good.

He is saved from having to give any kind of response by Adam's cell ringing. Adam steps out to take the call, and then pops his head back into the room a few seconds later.

"His girlfriend, Stella, is at the gate. Can you stay with him while I go grab her?"

Apparently it was mostly a rhetorical question because Adam doesn't actually give him a chance to reply before he is gone.

The Green Team Master chief is barely gone 30 seconds when a noise from the bed catches his attention. The kid groans and shifts uncomfortably, eyes cracking open slowly and with some level of effort.

The timing is so comical Jason would almost think it was a setup, if not for how confused Clay appears to be with the situation.

He isn't sure how much information Adam gave the kid the last time he was awake. Or if Clay even would remember it in his state, so he tries to cover all the basics before he gets worked up.

"You're alright. You are at the hospital. Adam just went to get Stella."

Spenser blinks a few more times and a bit more clarity seems to come through. Visible embarrassment floods his cheeks as he recognizes the speaker and the situation and the kid looks away sheepishly.

Jason takes that hint of lucidity as a sign that he can say what he needs to say. The words that have been burning on the tip of his tongue for hours since the kid went down. Whether or not it gets remembered is a whole other issue.

It doesn't really matter though, he will take great joy into beating it back into his head on future occasions if needed. He assumes it will be.

He doesn't mince words either getting straight to the point.

"You really are an idiot, you know that right?"

Clays brow furrows and he reaches up clumsily to try and dislodge the oxygen mask so he can speak.

Jason intercepts it. Blocking his access with a sharp "Don't"

He doesn't want to hear it.

Clay lowers his hand back down reluctantly and they both ignore the tremor that runs through it and the way it drops the last couple inches to the bed, fatigued by just that small effort.

"A team is only as strong as its weakest member. You hide an injury, you don't help anyone, in fact you cripple them. Might as well cut their chute yourself"

Jason winces the second the last few words leave his mouth but it's too late to pull them back.

Shit. Of all the metaphors he could have chosen he has no idea why he went with that one. Way to kick a guy when he is down, Jason.

It's probably a good thing Ray didn't tag along. He can vividly picture "are you kidding me right now" look he would be getting. Evidently his 2Ic is right, this kid really does give him a case of the redass and apparently an accompanying lack of filter. He usually prides himself on finding the right words to get through to his team. Clearly he is going to have to work on that for Spenser. It won't do to make putting his foot in his mouth like this a habit.

He studies the kid. Eyes downcast miserably, taking the lecture in stride while looking a bit like a kicked puppy about how this whole situation is unfolding. There is no hint of the cocky, brash seal team candidate they have been watching over the last few weeks. It's easy to forget that this is the same soldier who disobeyed Jason's orders as a strap and then had the audacity to argue about it. He has no doubt the kid will bounce back and be every bit the thorn in his side he expects soon enough but for now he owes Clay an apology.

He briefly considers just straight up saying he is sorry. But in his world talk is cheap and he figures he can do one better. If this kid is who he thinks he is then there is something that will mean more right now There probably is a better time and better way to do this, and by policy he shouldn't be saying anything until the final selections in a few more days, however Jason has always subscribed to the theory that rules are made to be broken. Besides he figures Clay deserves this after what he just went through.

He waits another second. Letting the silence stretch until the atmosphere in the room is so uncomfortable that Clay has no choice but to reluctantly make eye contact again.

When he has the younger man's full attention he says.

"You pull any of this crap on my team, I'll kick your butt myself...Got it?"

The kid squints at him, and his brow furrows again. Thinking, processing, trying to understand through the fog of fatigue, drugs and self recrimination he's got going on. For a second Jason isn't sure if the implication will even get through at this moment, but then Clay's eyes light up and he is beaming so brightly that its visible even under the mask. His hand snakes up again to the mask and this time Jason lets him nudge it off enough to get out a weak but firm "Yes, boss"

Jason is pretty sure the corner of his own mouth twitches into something dangerously close to a smile as he watches the priceless reaction. It's hard not to react to the kid's pure joy and unspoiled excitement. Even so he schools his features quickly, forcing a neutral expression. It won't do for the kid to think he is a softie. Especially after he just reamed him out.

So he gives a firm, conclusive "good" and holds out his hand again, waiting patiently while the kids coordinates his sluggish limbs, and shakes on it.

There are fast footsteps coming down the hall and a female he supooses to be Stella enters at a frantic pace. She only has eyes for the man in the bed and rushes to the side oblivious to Jason's presence.

Jason' takes that as his cue to exit, reaching out to realign the oxygen mask and leaving with final instructions to "keep that on there".

It's harder than Jason wants to admit away and leaving the room. Adam gives him an understanding smile and joins him on his way out. They make it halfway down the hallway before Adam finally says "Kid sure has a way of getting under your skin doesnt he?"

Jason gives him a rueful, grim smile "Like a damn parasite." He waits a beat and then adds "This isn't going to be the last time he gives me grey hair is it?"

Its as close as he will come to admitting his intentions even though the gig is clearly up.

He knows it. Adam knows it. Ray's known it for weeks.

Adam just laughs "Hell no. Better stock up your liquor cabinet"

Yup, Jason is in deep with this one. If there is any saving grace, its that he can probably count on Clay to rack up quite a tab of cases of beer in the first couple weeks with Bravo. That should help them all weather the acclimatization period. Maybe.

There is also always the chance Sonny kills him on the first mission. Could go either way.

With that thought, and the idea that Ray is most definitely waiting up at home to give him a massive, and well deserved "I told you so," he resolves to stop and pick up something a little stronger on the way home. His friend may have been right but it doesn't mean he needs to be sober when he hears about it.

0-0-0-0-0-0

_Thats a wrap. Thanks to everyone who was so invested in this story._


End file.
